Four Seasons (of the Heart)
by Katla
Summary: "The most wonderful time of the year" never had much personal significance for Natasha. The magic of the season, like so many beautiful, pointless things, was for children. But over the years she knows Bruce Banner, he has a habit of changing her mind — even about beautiful, pointless things. Written for the hulkwidownet Secret Santa.
1. 2012

MrsTater AKA khaleesa AKA my very good friend gave four such fabulous prompts for this Secret Santa exchange that at first I couldn't decide between them…but then it hit me. Why decide between them at all? All four of them could conceivably happen at different points in Bruce and Natasha's relationship, so why not explore their changing dynamic over four different Christmases? This fic is based on the following four prompts, but not precisely in this order:

Prompt #1: Tony suspects Bruce and Natasha have feelings for each other, so he hangs mistletoe all over the Tower trying to get them to admit how they feel. But it's not easy to trick a super spy.

Prompt #2: Bruce doesn't sent postcards from Tahiti, but Natasha does get a Christmas card that gives her a clue to his location.

Prompt #3: One of them isn't feeling the Christmas spirit, so the other helps them find it, in the way you only can in NYC.

Prompt #4: Christmas at the Barton farm.

Like I said, all really good prompts. I couldn't let them go to waste! Especially when she deserves the best Christmas fic possible. Happy holidays fellow BruceNat fans! If you're looking for more BruceNat goodness, make sure you check out MrsTater's fics. You won't regret it. I didn't, when I started reading her work!

Most of all, a very Merry Christmas to MrsTater. I hope you enjoy your Christmas fic, my dear!

* * *

 **Four Seasons (of the Heart)**

* * *

 **2012**

For the first time since Lila had been born, Natasha wasn't at the Barton farm for Christmas and she wasn't happy about the fact. But the threats from the terrorist who called himself "The Mandarin" were only escalating, and Nick had decided that he wanted her on hand just in case. Christmas would be an ideal time to strike, after all.

Fury ruining her Christmas plans — there was a St. Nick joke in there somewhere, but she was too annoyed to think of it. Or maybe the fact that Stark had decided to celebrate the season by changing his ringtone for Fury to "Jolly Old St. Nicholas" had infected her brain. In any case, Stark had gone off to spend some quality time with Pepper Potts over the holiday, and Natasha had the run of the newly-completed floors of Avengers Tower. The usual sounds of the construction on the upper half of the tower had fallen silent as mid-December brought a holiday for the construction workers along with everyone else, Natasha excepted. The Tower was dark and Natasha was alone as she watched the Mandarin's videos and combed through surveillance reports.

Although _alone_ wasn't an accurate description, technically speaking. Bruce Banner had taken up residence in the Tower as soon as the living quarters had been completed, even if she had yet to see him outside his lab. And she'd only managed to see him _there_ during her time glancing at the Tower's security feeds. He was like a ghost.

A Christmas ghost straight from a Dickens novel, given the way the half-completed Tower was practically dripping with evergreen garlands, beribboned wreaths, and cascades of lights. She still wasn't sure how Tony had managed to so thoroughly cover the walls and doors and windows with festive decorations. Or, more importantly, _why_. It had spread overnight like a particularly virulent plague.

Christmas was a largely pointless holiday in her mind, a chaotic mishmash of pagan and religious traditions that had faded into a collection of sanitized fairytales for children. She'd only ever enjoyed the holiday at Clint's house, where Cooper and Lila's excitement made the experience worthwhile in a distant, vicarious sort of way.

Ghosts and ubiquitous decorations notwithstanding, she kept focused on her mission and tried not to think of Clint and Laura's Christmas tree, strung with hundreds of glimmering lights, yards of tinsel, and dozens of ornaments made by Cooper and Lila over the years. She tried not to think of baking sugar cookies with Laura and the kids and the way Clint managed to steal some of the icing every time. She especially avoided all thoughts of cuddling up to watch animated Christmas movies before marking another day off the Christmas countdown calendar. The light in Cooper and Lila's eyes always intensified the closer they got to Christmas Eve.

She divided her time between work, glaring at the Christmas decorations, and watching her phone for calls. Her focus was absolute, even if she _was_ hoping for calls from the Bartons instead of from Nick. The Tower's gym wasn't complete yet, so when she had downtime, Natasha gravitated to the coffee machine in the expensively furnished lounge. It was there that she finally laid eyes on Bruce.

"Are you the ghost of Christmas past?" she asked when he appeared in the doorway. He blinked at her in surprise, but didn't retreat. She crossed _avoiding me_ off her mental list of reasons Bruce had been MIA.

"Natasha," he said. It was a greeting and a question. "I didn't know you were here." He was as hard to read as ever, but she thought he was telling the truth. His surprised expression seemed genuine; surprise was, after all, the hardest emotion to fake. She glanced him over briefly. He'd changed a lot since the last time she'd seen him. The long, curly hair was gone, buzzed short and harsh. His beard was thick enough that it must be a choice rather than temporarily neglecting to shave. She wasn't sure she liked the look, not that it mattered. His dark eyes were as deceptively placid and as shrewdly piercing as ever as he waited for her answer.

"Just using Stark's tech for a while," she answered with a shrug. "The perks of being an Avenger. Didn't JARVIS tell you I was here?"

Bruce's face creased with embarrassment as he ran a hand over his cropped hair. "He might have. Sometimes I don't hear him when I'm busy. If I'd known, I would have come by to say hello. So…" He dropped his hand enough to offer a stilted motion that might have been a wave. "Hi," he said. His smile was self-deprecating, but genuine enough.

She smiled back, and moved to make room for him by the coffee machine. He grabbed a mug and got to work; it took her a moment to recognize that he was making hot chocolate. The uncertain set of his shoulders dissuaded her from teasing him about the fact.

She drifted to the couch that was placed a little too close to a giant, wall-mounted plasma-screen. She felt rather than saw Bruce's doubtful gaze.

"Whatever you're doing, don't let me get in your way," she offered.

He shuffled over to the end of the couch. "I was going to check something," he said, gesturing vaguely at the TV. "But if you're working in here…" He took a step back toward the door. His closed posture and quiet tone reminded her of the first time she'd ever spoken to him. He was always reluctant to take up space.

She knew the feeling.

"Go ahead," she said quietly, and pulled out her phone to underline her lack of investment in his decision (and to check for calls from the kids). Bruce was the sort who occasionally responded more to apathy than to interest. Scrutiny made him uncomfortable. She knew that feeling, too.

A few moments passed before the couch squeaked as Bruce sat down. She didn't miss the fact that he was as far away from her as he could manage. He was practically pressed up against the armrest as he fumbled with the remote. Sneaking clandestine glances at his channel surfing wasn't hard, even though he kept the TV muted — except he didn't seem to be channel surfing at all. He stopped on a single channel and started scrolling through the listed programming for the day. Natasha decided to drop the not-paying-attention act.

"I didn't figure you for a TCM kind of guy," she started, glancing between the listings that included titles like _It's a Wonderful Life_ and Bruce's embarrassed expression that was only half-hidden by the glare of the TV on his glasses.

"And why is that?" he deflected — rather smoothly, Natasha had to admit — and kept watching the titles onscreen.

She shrugged. "You're not old enough, for one thing."

Bruce blinked and finally turned to look at her. His uncertain expression relaxed when he realized that she wasn't making fun of him. "Debatable," he said. "And I'd like to see the data behind that conclusion."

Her experience with Bruce Banner's sense of humor was limited and had occurred almost exclusively in very bad situations, but she recognized the self-deprecation and the dry sarcasm. At least this time it wasn't framed by the threat of a Hulkout or an alien attack.

"The best data of all," she answered with a smirk, determined to see whether his sense of humor responded to encouragement. "Personal experience."

Bruce was silent for a long moment, but his finger paused on the remote. "Then I'd say your sample size isn't large enough." His lips twitched only a little.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a huge nerd?" she asked casually. "Or did you only figure it out when people wouldn't stop throwing degrees at you?"

Bruce laughed at last, or at least snorted in a faintly amused way, and he almost smiled.

"But maybe you're right," Natasha continued. "I should expand my horizons. What are you looking for, anyway?"

Bruce pressed the power button on the remote. She just caught a glimpse of a title before the screen went dark. _The Shop Around the Corner._

"It's a Christmas movie," he explained. "One of my favorites." He was taking his time in placing the remote on the side table and adjusting his mug beside it. Natasha remembered the way he'd clasped his hands and idly rocked a wooden cradle during their first meeting many months ago. He fiddled when he was uncertain. Memories of soothing lies about "just you and me" and guns she'd stashed under tables surfaced and brought with them a vague sting of guilt. She grasped for a distraction.

"So this is how you spend Christmas? Watching old movies?" She kept her tone light, teasing him instead of making fun.

The smile that twitched across his lips was slightly stronger than the earlier iterations she'd seen today. "Mostly this one. I managed to watch it even on bad years."

She tried to limit her thoughts to the hilarious picture of Bruce watching old movies dubbed into Portuguese and Hindi, avoiding the fact that he had periods of his life that could be called _bad years._

"You mean you've been living in New York City and this is the most festive thing you can come up with?" she rebuked, half to distract herself from the gloom that threatened. The thought of Bruce's many Christmases alone vibrated in sympathy with her own misery over being separated from the Bartons until it became a potent, universally tragic thought. "What about sightseeing? Have you even gone to see the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree?"

"No," Bruce admitted. "The crowds —"

"— aren't a problem when there aren't aliens around to set you off," Natasha interjected smoothly. "Your control in crowds is very good."

Even Bruce couldn't argue with facts, so he settled for a noncommittal shrug.

"When does your movie come on?" she asked, expertly keeping the grinding of her mental gears out of her voice.

"Two hours," Bruce answered absently. He stared at his cocoa, and Natasha wasn't sure whether he was trying to decide whether it had cooled enough to drink or if he was working on a counterargument. Either way, she had no intention of giving him the time to follow through. She'd just come to a decision.

"Good," she said. "Just enough time to see the tree." When she went on to announce that she was coming too, he looked surprised, but didn't object. She was strangely relieved; she'd half expected that he might not be keen on the expedition — or on her company. But no hint of distaste crossed his face as they abandoned his hot cocoa and left the Tower.

* * *

"Haven't you ever been to see the tree before?" Bruce asked as they climbed out of the cab and joined the flow of pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk.

"I've walked by," Natasha answered. "Never stopped to look."

"Lack of time or lack of interest?"

"A little of both, I guess."

The tourist crowds had thickened in recent weeks as Christmas drew closer. Neither of them were tall enough to comfortably see over the sea of heads around them; Natasha grabbed Bruce's gloved hand to keep from losing him in the crowd. They wove through the mass of camera-toting tourists swathed in scarves and knit caps even though it was a balmy forty degrees. Natasha barely felt the cold. Bruce didn't look uncomfortable either. Of course, he had spent several months in the Canadian wilderness, so maybe he was immune to any temperature above freezing. They made their way down a line of angels composed of shrubs, wire, and lights. The tree was already visible.

They finally broke out of the crowd to find the famous Rockefeller ice skating rink below them and the tree above. It was a massive Norway Spruce, eighty feet tall, at least, supported by cables bolted into the concrete on each side and decked with thousands of lights in every color. An enormous silver star rested on top. It was pretty, Natasha thought, but not breathtaking. She glanced at Bruce. Beneath his wind-reddened cheeks, his jaw had gone slack, and he stared up at the tree with a wide-eyed look that reminded her of Cooper and Lila's expressions when Clint plugged in the Christmas tree each year. She couldn't help her grin.

"So, what do you think?" she prompted. He blinked and came back to himself, adjusting his glasses so minutely that she was sure he was driven by habit rather than necessity.

"It's beautiful," he said simply. When she pulled out her phone and offered to take his picture, Bruce reacted more as if she'd pulled a loaded gun than the time when she actually _had_ brandished a weapon in his face, so she put it away again. They stayed, looking at the tree and watching the skaters below and the children running around with manic glee until his amused expression began to shift into something darker. Fortunately, Natasha had always been good at making the call on when to scrap a mission.

"You need a souvenir," she distracted insistently, pulling him into Rockefeller Center to find the nearest gift shop.

"A souvenir?" he protested, but didn't resist. He even eyed a few of the shop windows with interest as they passed.

"Isn't that what people do when they have a memorable experience?"

His voice was abruptly flat and low. "I don't know." Before she could grimace or try to reroute the conversation, he continued in a lighter tone. "How do you know this qualifies as memorable?" The words could have been sarcastic or unkind, but his face told a different story. The line between his eyebrows, the tightness of his half smile — all clearly said how do _I_ know?

She knew a little something about the difficulty of recognizing a good thing when it came your way. And the even greater difficulty of holding on to it. She opened her mouth to speak and realized that it felt like offering guidance. She tried to shake the feeling and focus on saying only what she knew. "I saw your face. Looked pretty memorable to me."

Bruce gave the first unguarded smile of the day. "You're the expert at reading people," he said, and selected a postcard with a photo of the tree and the parade of trumpeting angels in muted black and white.

* * *

They were just in time for the movie when they returned to the Tower, and Natasha found herself lingering on the couch despite the fact that she had never particularly cared for older films. Something in the way Bruce's posture relaxed and the suggestion of a smile settled on his face kept her in place. Bruce was right; her expertise was in reading people. He was just closed off enough to be fascinating, and she had never seen this particular side of him before. She watched him just as much as she watched the movie.

The smile he flashed briefly at each joke was the sort reserved for an old friend met in passing. She suspected he would have laughed outright if she hadn't been there. It occurred to her that she'd never heard him laugh.

She dropped the occasional question in between lines of fast-paced dialogue, and Bruce held back his answers until he could speak without obscuring any important lines. He didn't want to ruin her first viewing of a classic, he said, entirely genuine. He missed the way her lips twitched in response when he turned back to the screen.

James Stewart and Margaret Sullavan were the actors playing the star-crossed lovers Alfred Kralik and Klara Novak, according to Bruce. They stepped around and all over each other's feelings in the little shop that employed them in Budapest, blissfully unaware that they were each other's beloved penpals. It was a highly convenient and overly romantic plot, but it did have a certain charm. She'd have to show Clint this quaint little portrayal of Budapest, complete with feathery flakes of fake snow. He'd laugh himself senseless. A cast of actors speaking American English made the whole thing even better.

Bruce was oblivious to her mental list of nitpicks. As the movie went on, he made hot chocolate for the two of them, insisting that she couldn't step away to make her own since she hadn't seen the movie before. She decided to let him take that bullet for her, and didn't regret it a bit when she tasted the end result.

"Not bad, Bruce," she complimented, but he was already glued to the screen again and only nodded faintly in reply.

Onscreen, fake snow and silvery Christmas trees mingled with increasingly romantic plot lines.

"Why would he keep writing to her after he figures out who she is, but not tell her who he is or what he's doing?" she wondered aloud. "It's kind of a dick move."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed. "But it makes for a good movie."

When the credits rolled, she had to admit that he was right. That didn't stop her from having a little fun.

"Tell me again why you like this movie?" she jabbed with a grin.

Bruce smiled, but his eyes turned contemplative.

"It's nice when the hidden truth is hopeful, I guess. And I like the thought that what's right for you isn't immediately obvious. I try to remember that."

She couldn't resist that opening. "What's right for you. Like SHIELD agents ambushing you with offers to join the Avengers, you mean?"

He barely hesitated and his smile was only a little wry. "Yes. Exactly like that."

She didn't feel the tension she'd been harboring in her muscles until they relaxed after he spoke. He didn't hold any grudges. It was a relief, she realized. Bruce picked up their empty mugs and carried them to the sink beside the coffee machine. Natasha's mind drifted to the surveillance reports she needed to get back to as her eyes traced the holly-studded garland draped around the perimeter of the room. For the first time in days, she didn't feel like glaring at it.

She still didn't much care for Christmas divorced from the bright-eyed enthusiasm of Cooper and Lila Barton. But, she decided, the way Bruce did Christmas wasn't so bad either.


	2. 2014

**2014**

The silence of the darkened halls of Avengers Tower was a relief after the relentless music and laughter of Tony's Christmas party. Stark had made it his personal mission to one-up himself every time he gave a party, an obsession that had manifested this year in drinks served by his Iron Legion, holographic mistletoe that appeared at random around the room, and insidious hints of a karaoke contest. Whenever the subject of karaoke was raised, no matter the circumstances, Natasha made it a rule to bail.

She wasn't the only Avenger who had slipped away from the dizzying experience of Stark's distressingly annual party. The sound of a television bled through the half-cracked door of the lounge as she approached.

"I don't want you to love me," said a woman's voice, tense and impatient.

"I don't!" protested a man in response. She recognized Jimmy Stewart's voice and a smile broke over her face as she finally placed the movie — _The Shop Around the Corner_. A quick glance through the door revealed Bruce slumped low against the couch, hair tousled against the cushion behind him and his feet resting against the coffee table in front. When she'd first known him, he wouldn't have been so relaxed anywhere, let alone in a skyscraper brimming with partygoers. She indulged another smile before smoothing it safely away, and made sure to let the door creak to announce her presence. Bruce glanced in her direction.

"Here you are," she said, smirking at him in the silver light of the television. The lamps and overhead fluorescents were all dark. Bruce turned the movie down and pushed himself into a slightly more upright position. She almost regretted disturbing him from one of his rare unguarded moments, but his smile was warm.

"I can only take so much when it comes to parties," he said by way of explanation, running the fingers of his right hand absently over his loosened tie. His suit jacket was slung over the armrest beside him, like a straight jacket abandoned at the earliest opportunity.

"You don't have to dress up, you know," she commented lightly, smirking as he rolled his sleeves a little further up his forearms.

"Says the woman wearing _that_ dress," he countered, and finally pulled his tie off altogether, tossing it over his jacket.

She glanced down at her fitted red gown and realized that he really did have a point. Not that she was going to say as much. She had her sights set on the seat beside Bruce as she came around the sofa, but the seat was taken by a plate of what looked like miniature crab cakes.

"I see you made off with some hors d'oeuvres," she said, taking the open seat at the end of the couch. Bruce looked slightly abashed, but it was a satisfied sort of guilt.

"Try these," he said, pointing at the half-empty plate, "and _then_ tell me you wouldn't have stolen them, too."

She reached for the nearest crab cake, a coin-sized work of art covered with breadcrumbs and topped with diced tomatoes, and hummed in approval as she popped it into her mouth.

"Point taken," she allowed, reaching for another. She paused long enough to raise an eyebrow in Bruce's direction. "Can I have another one or would that send you into an incident?"

Bruce made a show of considering. "I think I can handle it," he said at last. He couldn't hold back his smile.

Natasha could, but she relaxed into a smirk. "Why do you think I volunteered for lullaby duty?" she said, pointedly selecting the largest piece on the plate. "For moments just like this." She chewed deliberately and Bruce laughed. It was a familiar sound these days.

His eyes wandered back to the screen, where Jimmy Stewart had thrown away his red carnation that matched the flower tucked into Margaret Sullavan's book. He glanced back at her and the confusion clouding his eyes was faint, but easy to spot.

"I thought you didn't like this movie," he said, but she heard the question underneath.

 _Why are you staying?_

Natasha didn't usually make a habit of answering questions that were only posed in subtext, so she shrugged. "I never said that."

"You asked me how _I_ could like it," Bruce hedged, his expression caught between a smile and a grimace. Natasha studied him carefully; he never seemed able to decide whether he was having fun. But she was getting good at pushing him into certainty.

"Do you remember everything I said years ago?" she deflected, and was gratified when he settled on a tight grin.

"Only the things that offended me." His tone was teasing.

"So you _do_ remember everything I said years ago," she replied with a twist of her lips. "I'm touched."

Bruce's smile faded when he glanced back toward the low murmur of the TV, and Natasha suppressed a sigh. No matter how hard she tried, his moods were hard to predict and impossible to fully manage. Not that she was making much of an attempt at managing them these days. She just wanted him to lighten up, for the team's sake.

And for his own.

"You're welcome to watch if you want," Bruce offered in a subdued but not unpleasant voice. "But wouldn't you rather get back to the party?"

He'd finally asked outright. She'd been attempting a policy of honesty with her friends ever since SHIELD had collapsed and painfully reminded her of the cost of subterfuge. She answered him truthfully and hoped he would pick up on the fact.

"You're not the only one who has a low threshold for parties."

His nod was almost solemn as he absorbed that. They lapsed into a comfortable silence as the film's more dramatic plotlines came to a head onscreen. Natasha slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet between the cushions, curling up until her head lolled against the back of the couch. Her dress would be wrinkled, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I've always wondered whether people actually do this sort of thing," Bruce said suddenly, just as Kralik arrived at Klara's home, unsure about whether to give the romance a try.

"Fall in love?" Natasha deadpanned, rolling her head in his direction. "It happens, or so I'm told."

Bruce lifted an eyebrow, but when he spoke, there was no trace of sarcasm. "I meant with the flowers. Arranging a meeting with only a red carnation to identify you." He turned to face her. "You were a spy. Ever use less than orthodox means of meeting contacts?"

"Like flowers?" she asked, a laugh chasing the words. "Not in this century."

Bruce's smile was self-deprecating. "Sorry, ridiculous question. I wonder why they picked carnations?" he mused, apparently content to follow one ridiculous question with another.

The shadows of the room covered Natasha's soft smile.

* * *

"So what do you think? Code Green?" Natasha asked as she risked a second clandestine peek through the doorway — the flimsy barrier protecting them from the party within. The plate of hors d'oeuvres had been empty for a long time before they'd finally been driven to attempt a supply run.

"I thought this was a covert mission," Bruce protested, but with a hint of a grin.

"In and out," Natasha agreed, pressing herself against the wall as she took a deep breath in preparation. Dodging Stark and his guests felt a lot like the last extraction mission she'd participated in, months ago now. Before the fall of SHIELD.

The sudden memories stung fiercely and Natasha forced them back by focusing on Bruce's lingering smile. Bruce was close behind her as she slipped through the door at last, weaving through the thick press of expensively-dressed guests. They had made it halfway to the nearest buffet spread when Tony's voice swelled above the music and the collective murmur of the partygoers.

"Bruce! There you are!" He was leaning over the railing of an upper level as he waved.

Bruce's face broadcasted a twist of existential despair and resigned humor in the way that only he could ever manage. "Go on without me," he said with an air of noble self-sacrifice.

"And leave you to the wolves?" she answered, clocking the rate of Stark's approach and the likelihood of their escape. The odds weren't good. "We'll stand and fight," she spoke and decided. "Maybe we'll even make it out alive." Bruce's smile was directed at the floor, but she saw it clearly.

They watched the crowds part as Tony finally descended from on high. Parting crowds was one of his lesser known super powers, Natasha thought begrudgingly.

"Where've you been?" Tony asked, sliding an arm around Bruce's shoulders. "You missed karaoke." His sharp eyes turned accusatory. "That was on purpose, wasn't it?" Bruce's sheepish smile was all the confirmation he needed. Tony heaved a dramatic sigh. "It's a good thing I like you, because you are hopeless at parties."

Bruce had one particular smile that Natasha had only ever seen directed at Tony. It was almost a smirk, but what set it apart from Bruce's collection of varied grins and grimaces was the affectionate humor that leaked through the sarcastic cracks. For reasons that Natasha had never been able to completely understand, Bruce was genuinely attached to Tony Stark. "Sorry, Tony," Bruce apologized, wearing the rare smile. "I needed a break from the party. And from your questionable music tastes. A James Bond playlist?" he added, glancing upward as Natasha finally made out the brassy strains of "Goldfinger" filtering through the Tower's speaker system.

"Methinks the scientist doth protest too much," Tony retorted slyly. "I saw you singing along with 'The World is Not Enough' earlier."

Bruce looked vaguely defeated. "Against my will," he said, suddenly addressing her. "It's a catchy song." She wasn't sure whether it was funnier that he'd been singing along or that he felt compelled to defend the fact. She was tempted to laugh at him, but she found herself defending him instead.

"He has a point. How does that qualify as Christmas music?" she asked Tony, lifting a condescending eyebrow.

"I would think that of all people, an actual spy would appreciate —" Tony broke off when a pale glow suffused their little circle, painting their faces in washed out tones of white and green. They looked up as one to see Tony's holographic mistletoe floating a few feet above their heads.

"Well," said Tony, "How about that." He glanced at Natasha and the sparkle in his eyes turned wicked. "The moment we've all been waiting for."

Natasha's mind raced through the possibility that he might try to kiss her — and she had already decided exactly what sort of armlock to use on him if he tried — but he didn't step forward. His eyes flicked to Bruce, and she started to wonder whether he meant for _him_ to kiss her. The thought dawned on Bruce at the same time, judging by the sudden redness in his cheeks. He was actually blushing, the dork.

She knew exactly what she'd do if Tony attempted anything as stupid as a mistletoe kiss. But when she substituted Bruce into the scenario...

Tony spared her the discomfort of analyzing the strange sensation when he turned to face Bruce.

"Merry Christmas, Bruce," Tony said, and leaned in much too close, pressing a lingering kiss against Bruce's cheek. Natasha almost controlled her laugh, but Bruce's look of resigned dismay pulled it out of her.

"What?" said Tony when Bruce's only response was to stare at the ceiling and shake his head. "Natasha would have gone Black Widow on me if I'd tried that with her. You're the safer option, buddy. Besides," he paused to gesture at the hologram above. "You two obviously weren't going to use it, and it's a shame for good mistletoe to go to waste. Pepper!" His shout was sudden and brimming with exaggerated guilt. "This isn't what it looks like!"

Pepper was standing close enough that she couldn't have missed the kiss. To her credit, she raised an eyebrow and looked bored. Tony wilted a little at the lack of reaction, but his determination was stoked again in an instant.

"Bruce," he said, releasing Bruce's shoulders from his one-armed grip. "I'm so sorry to tell you this way...but I'm not actually in love with you, no matter what the tabloids say. And now I need to go explain that to my girlfriend, who I'm sure is wildly conflicted about all this. Try not to regret me." He patted Bruce's shoulder and the crowd parted for him as he made a beeline for Pepper. Bruce sighed.

"Well," he said, wiping his cheek with one hand.

"Too bad nobody got a picture for the tabloids," Natasha answered flatly. "Your first kiss with Tony Stark." Bruce's brow twitched minutely; Natasha zeroed in. "Wait. _Is_ that the first time he's kissed you?"

Bruce winced. "Will it sound weird if I say no?"

Natasha laughed instead of answering and turned to scan for their original goal: the finger foods arranged on the buffet table a few yards away. She glanced back at Bruce, but his eyes had drifted upward again.

Tony's holographic mistletoe still floated silently above them. She meant to meet his gaze with a readymade smirk and a smart comment about ridiculous Christmas traditions, but her eyes landed on his lips instead. It would take one step to put herself within kissing range. Bruce's lips opened and closed again; the line of his throat bobbed when he swallowed. Kissing Bruce under the mistletoe...

She still couldn't decide. She wondered whether it was because she didn't really want to...or because she did.

"Bruce," she said, and she had no idea how to finish the sentence.

Overhead, the hovering image flickered and blinked out of existence, reappearing at the other side of the room. Bruce's sudden exhale matched her more controlled one.

"Missed our window," he said at last. His smile was only a little shaky.

Natasha tried to ignore the sudden heaviness in her chest. It felt remarkably like regret.

"Well," she said, producing a smirk, "There's always next year."

Bruce laughed.


	3. 2015

**2015**

Tony had mainly restricted his Christmas decorating mania to the Avengers' upstate facility this year, opting to focus on the location with the highest traffic. But Avengers Tower hadn't completely escaped; there were a few signs of the season in the lobby as Natasha entered, her economically small duffel bag tossed over one shoulder. A few strings of lights hung overhead, and a Christmas tree stood by the elevators. She caught sight of an Iron Man ornament as she passed, but didn't pause to see whether the rest of the team was represented. Her anticipation of a holiday spent in the silence of the Tower's empty domestic suites was too intense to pause for anything short of an alien invasion.

Muscle memory guided her hand to the correct floor button as she dropped her solid black duffel on the floor of the elevator. The doors were so polished that she could clearly see the ripped patch at one end where she'd painstakingly picked off the SHIELD logo. She didn't bother asking FRIDAY to turn on the lights when she stepped onto the floor she'd occupied back when the Avengers had been a team and not a hot button issue. Escaping the constant news coverage of protests the world over had been a major factor in her decision to spend the holiday alone. The fact that photos plastered on protesters' signs was the only way she saw Bruce's face these days didn't help, either.

Still, it was a fairly good holiday so far, at least as she measured them after Sokovia. The good days before that world-breaking crisis seemed like a distant glimpse of another life, now. She sidestepped the gloom that had been threatening even before she'd turned down Clint's annual invitation to spend Christmas with his family, and methodically unpacked her bag in the room that had once been hers.

The silence was peaceful rather than pressing as she made her way to the lounge that had both a coffee machine and a TV. She ignored the news stations, determined to stay away from the coverage during her much needed down time, and found a channel that was playing a marathon of the animated Christmas movies Cooper and Lila loved.

Minutes crawled past, but she couldn't focus on the singing snowman on screen. Her wandering eyes followed the splash of the TV's thin light; it bled upward, outlining the decorations that had been half hidden in the shadows. Evergreen garlands woven through with powered down lights surrounded a sign.

The _Merry Christmas_ banner, red letters on a field of white, reminded her of bloody footprints in the snow.

For a moment she was back in the ice of Kovalevsky Forest, leaving drops of blood between her unsteady boot prints, and growing red puddles inside them.

 _You're hemorrhaging, you stupid girl._ Madame's voice floated out of her mind, colder than the ice she'd slipped on again and again. As though bleeding out was a failure of will.

She couldn't remember all that had happened that day in the woods — maybe it had been a drill gone wrong? — but there had been a bone-shaking impact followed by a long, slow bleed as she dragged herself forward, vision tunneling and turning black around the edges until she barely felt connected to her body.

She blinked away the memories, but the emptiness she mostly didn't feel anymore was awakening in her chest.

The problem with pain was that it reminded you of _other_ pain.

The cold of Kovalevsky Forest mingled with the swirl of snowflakes in Sokovia months earlier. She was standing on the edge of a city in the sky, quietly telling Steve that there were worse ways to go than dying to save the world. She was reaching out a hand to the Big Guy before a rain of bullets sent her hurtling into unconsciousness.

Steve had also left the team for the holiday, spending his holiday checking and rechecking his leads on Bucky Barnes.

Bruce was still just gone.

She waited for the pain that usually flared when she dwelt too long on thoughts of Bruce; it was distant when it came. She stared unseeingly at the TV and wondered again whether it might be easier to settle into bitterness or apathy instead of allowing the constant burn of missing him. Her mind drifted back to drops of blood melting deep into the snow as she dragged herself forward under a tangled canopy of bare branches.

Heartbreak, she realized distantly, felt remarkably like bleeding out.

Both were a quieter experience than one might expect, a period of shock followed swiftly by pain and an eventual lapse into anemic numbness, as though you'd felt everything you were ever going to feel. The difference, of course, was that the body ran out of blood eventually, and the heart stopped. When it was the emotions that ran out, it didn't even slow down.

It was a fact known only to the most accomplished of torturers that the worst pain was always the sort that couldn't kill you.

"Ms. Romanoff?" FRIDAY's soft voice broke into her thoughts.

"Yes?" she acknowledged, grabbing the remote to find something more mind-numbing and less schmaltzy than Christmas movies. She'd had enough brooding for one day.

"I'm about to forward the mail delivery to the upstate headquarters. Would you like me to leave your letters here?"

She wondered how much of it was hate mail this time. The amount of death threats and creepy letters from stalkers had dropped drastically in recent months, so much so that she suspected Tony was getting to them first and throwing them away. It would be interesting to test that theory by seeing the mail before he did.

"That's fine, FRIDAY. Send it up."

The hum of the pneumatic delivery system terminated in the crack of plastic against plastic when the cylindrical carrier landed in the receiving bin in one corner of the room. She left the programming guide scrolling on the TV screen as she went to retrieve it.

There wasn't much in the pod when she brought it to the couch, just a thin stack of envelopes. Two looked like hate mail and one had the Stark Industries logo printed on it. It was probably the annual Christmas party invite. She tossed it all into the wastebasket and glanced at the final scrap of paper in the cylinder. It was slightly crumpled and half-flattened against the curved edge of the carrier. She peeled it free and held it out to catch the light of the television.

It was a post card. There were two short sentences scrawled in the square reserved for messages.

 _I miss you._

 _I'm sorry._

She read the words and recognized the handwriting in the same moment. There wasn't a signature, but there was no mistaking the cramped letters that hinted at elegant loops without ever quite achieving them — because that would mean taking up space.

Bruce.

Her hand was trembling minutely when she flipped the card to look at the picture.

The Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree.

For one wild moment, she wondered if this was his way of letting her know that he was back. But the adrenaline cleared and she recognized that the postcard was too weathered to have been purchased recently. The edges were worn, and a deep crease in the middle indicated that it had been folded in half for a long time before someone had attempted to smooth it out. When she studied the fine print, the date of printing was three years earlier. A glance at the postage confirmed what her examination had already told her: the postcard had come by airmail from overseas. It didn't matter what city; he would have moved on by now.

She turned the card again, ran her fingers over the black and white image of the tree and the walkway of angels. This image was familiar.

It was the card he'd bought from the gift shop when they'd gone to see the tree.

The TV flashed brightly, and she caught sight of a few tiny words crammed into the white border underneath the photo. _You were right._ _It_ was _memorable._

He had managed to make the card hopeless and warm at the same time. Bruce always was the king of mixed messages. Of course, it was difficult _not_ to send mixed messages when you were never sure what you could allow yourself to feel. She really did understand that.

Her fingers traced the loops of his letters as she stared at the channel listings on screen. He'd left without warning nearly eight months earlier, and taken nothing with him. The postcard must have been in his pocket. Had he habitually kept it with him? The thought filled her with a distant warmth.

For months, she'd hoped he'd tell her where he was. He surprised her, as usual, by selecting the option she hadn't considered as a possibility. He'd told her where his _heart_ was. It would have to be enough for now.

She stared at the TV without seeing until a familiar title caught her eye. _The Shop Around the Corner_ was playing on TCM. Her lips twitched. "Well," she muttered to no one, "It's practically a tradition." She flipped the channel.

"My problem is what you might call psychological," said Klara, lying in bed with moist eyes. Natasha sank down against the couch to watch. Despite her best efforts, her eyes studied the postcard more than the screen. It took her several minutes, but she finally noticed the first of the collection of stamps.

It was a red carnation.


	4. The Not-So-Distant Future

**The Not-So-Distant Future**

The ancient television Clint had unearthed from somewhere and positioned atop an old sidetable between the two couches in the living room added to the rustic charm of Christmas at the farm every bit as much as the Christmas tree that sparkled beside the upright piano and the scent of Laura's spiced hot chocolate.

"But, Barton," Tony faltered upon entering the room, staring at the TV with a look of horror. "Why?"

Natasha could have recited Clint's patented kids-should-play-outside speech after all the years they'd known each other, and she was confident that she could have duplicated the hints of his technology-is-not-a-necessity-of-life manifesto, but Tony had never heard either. He looked distinctly unimpressed with both.

"Barton family wishlist," he muttered, his fingers an untrackable blur against the razor-thin screen of one of his multipurpose touchscreen devices. "New TV." He looked a little forlorn as he selected the middle cushion of the faded blue couch with checked throw cushions.

It was still a far cry from his almost pitiful demeanor a few hours before when Pepper had been called away on urgent Stark Industries business just before Christmas Eve celebrations could begin.

"He looks like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree," had been Bruce's assessment right before he talked her into inviting Tony along for their annual Christmas Eve trip to visit the Bartons. She'd resisted the idea right up until Bruce quietly reminded her that Tony had made a point of spending every Christmas alone with Pepper after the Yuletide fiasco of 2012.

He did look a little wilted, even in the warm light of the fireplace and the twinkling lights Laura and Clint wound around the posts and rafters every December. She was tempted to feel sorry for him, since he was missing his girlfriend so much on Christmas.

She slipped her phone from her pocket and took a stealthy picture to send to Pepper instead.

She snapped the picture just in time; the appearance of Cooper and Lila in the doorway perked Tony right up again. He monopolized their attention the moment they finished hugging her.

"Hey, kids," he greeted. "I've got presents for you."

The fact that they had met the infamous Tony Stark only once several years earlier was instantly overcome, and Tony quickly had a fan club waiting eagerly to see what he'd brought. As he dug in his bag for whatever gifts he had with him, Natasha reflected that he looked like a much younger, better-coiffed Santa Claus. She'd have to tell him as much later.

The kids were fiddling with what looked like mini holographic projectors that could cycle through collections of images when Natasha finally heard Bruce's steps outside the front door. He'd barely gotten their suitcases in the door before the ear-splitting cry of " _Uncle Bruce!"_ had culminated in a running hug from Lila and a slightly more composed hug from Cooper.

Lila's deathgrip and Cooper's excited chatter about everything he'd been learning in biology class were only ended when Laura came around the corner and sent them away to get into their pajamas. The cocoa she passed Bruce's way forced him to wait on taking the bags upstairs, so he drifted into the living room instead, settling on the couch opposite Tony. Natasha claimed the seat beside him, and stole a sip from his mug instead of going to get her own.

It took Bruce several moments to feel Tony's glare.

"What did I do?" Bruce asked in confusion.

"Oh, nothing," Tony demurred as he leaned down to pick a discarded holoprojector out of the rug. "I just assumed my aversion to children was a one-sided problem. But apparently it's a two-way street." He paused to shake his head in bewilderment. "I can't even buy these kids' affection. Unbelievable."

"That's the thing, Tony," Bruce answered, surrendering his cocoa easily when Natasha reached for it again. "You can't _buy_ kids' affection at all. There's something called quality time…"

"Don't get smart with me, Banner. Tell me your secret. The kids love you."

"Quality. Time. Ask Pepper — she'll tell you."

Tony sighed and slumped heavily against the couch. "Why do you two always gang up on me?" he asked the ceiling.

Bruce shrugged. "Maybe it's because we're always right."

Tony raised his head enough to glare half-heartedly, but Clint's appearance distracted him from replying. Laura was close behind, holding Nathaniel's tiny hand in one of her own.

"Look who's here," she said, pointing at Bruce and Natasha. He released her hand immediately, and toddled as fast as his little legs would carry him toward Bruce. Tony's glare only intensified.

Clint pressed a button and fiddled with a dial on the TV's front panel until the black and white fuzz on the screen finally resolved itself into a decent picture. He plucked a remote of some kind from beside the television and used it to point at Stark, who was staring at the ceiling again.

"No talking during the movie," he said flatly, and turned the volume up before absconding to the kitchen, remote in tow. Cooper and Lila returned, now buttoned into red and green pajamas, and sat with their backs to the fireplace, five plush stockings dangling over their heads.

"Say night-night," Laura whispered to Nathaniel as she scooped him up again. Nathaniel managed something close to "ni ni" before she carried him upstairs.

Tony barely made it through the opening credits of _Frosty the Snowman_ before he moved to sit beside Bruce and whispered too loudly, "This movie was boring when _I_ was a kid."

Clint cleared his throat pointedly from the kitchen and Tony subsided into disgruntled silence.

"Oh thank God," he muttered when the end credits finally began some thirty minutes later. "So is this the part where we get to open presents?"

"Presents are tomorrow," Lila informed him helpfully. "We have cookies and movies tonight."

"Not too many cookies," said Laura, emerging from the kitchen with a plate in hand. "It's almost bedtime."

Tony joined the kids' chorus of groaning. "Bedtime?" he protested, as though he, too, was bound to abide by bedtime rules. "But _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ is coming on!" He pointed at the title listed on the television screen beside the words _up next._

When Cooper and Lila had no reaction, Tony's brow contracted. "Haven't you kids seen that movie?"

"No," answered Lila, standing up to pick through the cookie selection Laura was holding out for her. "Is that the one with the skeleton guy?"

"The _skeleton guy_?" Tony repeated in disbelief. He twisted around to shake his head at Clint sitting at the kitchen table behind them all. "And I thought you were a _good_ father."

Clint didn't even look up from the pile of plastic toy bits he was assembling for Nathaniel.

"That's it," Tony declared, his tone approaching a righteous fury. "We're watching it. Kids, take a seat. Clearly someone needs to take control of your Christmas movie experience before you end up as outcasts." He stood up, took two steps toward the opposite couch where Cooper and Lila had settled, cookies in hand and slightly confused looks on their faces. He suddenly spun back and held out a hand toward Bruce. "I almost forgot: your present. Use it wisely."

With those cryptic words and an even more cryptic smile, Tony dropped something small into Bruce's hand and settled himself between Cooper and Lila on the couch. Bruce stared at the tiny object, but the movie was starting, so he pocketed it before Natasha could get a good look.

"Okay, who's sharing a cookie with me?" Tony asked, looking expectantly between the two kids on either side of him.

Cooper, his mouth full, just held up his empty hands and shrugged.

"Really?" Tony said reproachfully, and turned to Lila instead. "How about you?"

She studied him in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Alright," she said with a nod. "You can have the Iron Man cookie."

Tony's eyes had drifted to the television screen, but her words ripped his gaze from the opening titles. "The what now?" he asked.

Lila held up a round sugar cookie with blue icing and dark piping that was distinctly reminiscent of a glowing arc reactor. Tony stared.

"This," he said gravely, "is a work of art. I want more. Are there more?" He looked around and finally spotted Laura. "Mrs. Hawkeye. Are there more of these gorgeous cookies?"

"There are," she said, one corner of her lips pulling into a smile. "The kids helped me make them. And Natasha helped me find the decorating templates."

"Pinterest," Natasha shrugged when Tony and Bruce stared at her in disbelief.

"Templates?" Bruce asked. "There are more than one?"

Natasha nodded. "I improvised the Hulk design. The original template was a radiation symbol. I thought you deserved a little more style."

Bruce raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as Laura handed him the plate. A pile of cookies frosted with green fists were mixed with cookies with red hourglasses, patriotic shields, silver hammers, and chocolate arrows. Bruce's lips twitched as he selected a sugar cookie with a red hourglass and took a bite.

"These are delicious," he told Laura. Natasha plucked a green fist from the plate and passed them to Tony. Lila took an hourglass cookie and Cooper took a hammer and a fist.

"No one wants the Hawkeye cookies," Natasha said loudly, grinning when Clint's chair scraped the floor in a way that sounded irate.

"Don't worry, Barton," called Tony. "If no one else will eat you, I will." True to his word, he snatched an arrow cookie from the plate and ate it in two bites. His swallow was thoughtful. "My cookie was better," he declared, and turned his attention back to the movie.

Natasha smirked at Clint's disgusted sigh behind her. They lapsed into silence for a while, broken only by Tony's occasional exclamations of "I love this song!" Cooper looked fascinated; Lila looked slightly frightened, pulling her knees up to her chest when the Oogie Boogie Man appeared. Tony glanced her way.

"The Avengers could totally take down the Oogie Boogie Man," he said, matter-of-fact. "We deal with weird magic all the time." She finally smiled and leaned against his arm just slightly as the movie went on. Tony's grin was brighter than all the Christmas lights in the farmhouse combined.

Natasha leaned closer to Bruce as Tony watched Jack's mournful Christmas Eve song with rapt attention.

"I think he relates to Jack on some weird level," she whispered. Bruce gave her a look that clearly expressed his reluctance to ever psychoanalyze Tony Stark. Natasha just smirked at him. "So what did he give you?"

Bruce blinked, finally remembering the mysterious gift. He slid it from his pocket, studying it in the light of the television. It was a small cylinder, about three inches long, flattened on one side. There was a single red button on the end. The wariness she instantly felt was mirrored in Bruce's eyes.

He wouldn't have given them anything dangerous for Christmas, she assured herself, plucking the black cylinder from Bruce's palm to study it from every angle. Against her better judgment, she pressed the button.

A paper-thin panel slid away on the rounded side and a beam of light shot out of the opening, fanning out until it solidified into a hologram floating near the ceiling. The three-dimensional image was a bundle of green leaves and white berries tied with a red ribbon.

Mistletoe.

"Well, are you going to use it this time?" Tony asked without looking away from the TV.

"Are we?" Natasha asked, turning toward Bruce, but he was already leaning in to kiss her. It was a soft kiss, too short to be really satisfying, but there were two children — or three, depending on how you counted — on the couch opposite them, so it was all she could hope for given the circumstances. Bruce pulled away when three voices joined together in a chorus of _ewwww._ Tony's voice was by far the loudest.

Natasha left the holographic mistletoe hovering overhead long enough to illuminate her scariest smile when she directed it at Tony. When he was properly cowed, she pressed the red button again and handed the projector back to Bruce, who slid it into his pocket. He draped an arm around her shoulders and she tucked herself into his side. They watched Jack defeat the Oogie Boogie Man and save Santa in silence.

"Now," said Tony as the credits rolled. "Wasn't that the greatest Christmas movie you've ever seen?" He was satisfied with Cooper's enthusiastic nod, but held up a finger when Lila looked uncertain. "The correct answer is 'yes.'"

She giggled. "Yes, Mr. Stark," she answered politely. Tony nearly choked.

" _Mr. Stark?_ " he asked in horror, making a face like a man who'd just bitten into something rotten. "My father was Mr. Stark. No, not even Dad, my _grand_ father was Mr. Stark. You can call me Tony. Uncle Tony, if you want." He shrugged benevolently.

"Uncle?" Lila asked in confusion. "But you're not with Aunt Nat…"

"That's because if I'd ever tried to make a move, she would have thrown me out a window and I would have died," Tony explained seriously. "Thankfully Bruce isn't the kind of guy that gets thrown out of windows."

Lila looked confused, but she nodded. Clint and Laura reappeared in the living room, carrying Nathaniel's plastic playset between them, and stopped to arrange it under the Christmas tree.

"Can we come downstairs and peek under the tree tonight?" Lila asked, almost bouncing on her toes in excitement as she stood.

"We'll all get up together tomorrow morning," Laura answered her gently.

"Bedtime," said Clint. "Tell everyone goodnight." Cooper and Lila walked so slowly that Natasha was actually impressed, but eventually their footsteps faded as they climbed the stairs.

"Don't forget the cookies for Santa!" Lila called down.

"I won't," Laura answered. She laid out a handful of cookies beside the Christmas tree. "Feel free to eat them if you want," she told Tony, who was eyeing them speculatively.

"I might," he conceded, but he was off the couch in a flash, fiddling with the television's numerous silver knobs set into a faux wood face and muttering something about the Stone Age. Snatches of dialogue were punctuated with loud bursts of white noise as he flipped channels.

" _You have an engagement, and so have I…_ " The line faded as Tony turned the knob.

"Wait," Bruce and Natasha said together. "Go back," she instructed, realizing after a moment that Bruce wasn't going to tell Tony what to do since he was so busy smiling at her like an idiot.

Tony sighed heavily. "You know I hate it when you do weird couple stuff," he muttered in a wounded tone. "Stop saying things at the same time."

They traded a glance that lasted a fraction of a second. "Okay," they said together.

Tony's answering grimace became more pronounced when he realized that the movie he'd flipped back to was in black and white.

"Barton," he called as Clint stepped back through the doorway. "Tell me you have beer."

"I thought you'd never ask," Clint said flatly, and Tony trailed behind him to the refrigerator.

Natasha wrapped both her arms loosely around Bruce as Kralik finally confessed his identity to Klara.

"Are you disappointed?" Kralik asked. An uncertain moment passed as Klara lifted a shaking hand to her brow.

"Psychologically, I'm very confused," she said, staring away from Kralik. Her face froze as a blue pause icon appeared in the corner of the television screen.

"You know," came Clint's voice from behind the waist-high countertop that divided the kitchen from the living room. "That's how I feel when I look at Nat and Banner."

"You're not going to be feeling anything below the neck if you don't give me that remote," Natasha retorted. Clint chuckled, but leaned over to surrender it.

Tony's laugh was sharp, but it terminated in indignation. "You've had a remote this whole time?"

"I may not be a tech addict," Clint answered placidly, "But I do have a DVR."

Natasha ignored them and pressed play. The ending was the best part.

"But personally," Klara continued at last, the tightness in her eyes sliding away into something bright and hopeful. "I don't feel bad at all."

Bruce leaned in close enough to whisper, "Now that's how _I_ feel when I look at us."

Natasha didn't even try to stop her smirk. "Cheesy," she accused fondly.

"Well," Bruce defended with a grin. "It _is_ Christmas."

In the twinkle of the Christmas lights onscreen, Klara and Kralik kissed at last.


End file.
